Late Summer Pasta from Paige's Garden

This is what was waiting for me in my garden when I got back from my travels to the East Coast this summer.

Carrots, spring onions, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, oregano...

Yesterday on NPR there was a program about school lunches in the Bay Area, namely about how crappy they are. One commentator pointed out how unconscionable that really is, given the incredible food we have here. And we do--when I think about leaving California, one of the things that holds me back is realizing that I may never have it this good again, food-wise. Besides our tiny garden that somehow managed, over the summer, to yield enough for us to do an egg exchange, we also live around the corner from the best produce market in, well, the world--plus a cheese shop, a fish shop, and the kind of butcher shop where I'd eat almost anything in the place (and trust me, I'm picky).

It all got me thinking about how, while we sometimes struggle to make ends meet and do all the things we want to do--and here in the Bay Area, there is a lot of wealth, so you notice when you have the crappiest car in the lot, if you know what I mean--we are incredibly lucky to have the resources to feed L. good, healthy food.

I am not a food blogger, but today, friends, I am posting a recipe for Late Summer Pasta, which we made last night from some of THIS incredible bounty from my friend Paige's garden. She lives a couple of miles away, which means, in this land of micro-climates, that she can grow real tomatoes and basil like they're going out of style.

Basil, tomatillos, cuke, tomatoes, squash...

Late Summer Pasta (from Paige's garden)

3 very large ripe tomatoes (heirloom or beefsteak), or the equivalent, chopped small

1 cup or so beautiful sweet yellow or orange cherry tomatoes, halved

1 bunch fresh basil, chopped

3 T. capers, or more, to taste

1-2 cloves of garlic, pressed or smooshed into paste with the flat side of a knife

1 container little fresh mozzarella balls or equivalent amount of ricotta salata

A fragrant peppery green extra-virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Maple syrup, agave, honey, or sugar (optional; see below)

Grated lemon rind (optional; see below)

1 pound of pasta, gluten-free or regular (fresh pasta would also be divine)

About two hours before you want to eat, place all the tomatoes in a nonreactive bowl. Add garlic, chopped basil, the capers, salt and pepper to taste, mozzarella or ricotta salata, and a generous glug of olive oil. Toss gently, let sit for 15 to 20 minutes, then taste. You want a nice mix of garlicky, salty, tangy, and sweet. If the tomatoes are too tangy, you’ll need to soften the flavor with a little bit of sweetener. If they’re very sweet and you want more tang, go ahead and grate in some lemon rind.

When you're ready to eat, cook pasta until al dente in salted water. Toss with a bit of olive oil and your sauce. Correct seasoning and serve.

Serves 4.

Note: We ate this with Trader Joe's lemon-pepper pasta for the boys, and Tinkyada gluten-free penne for the Mom. That's me.

Sacrificing Career for Kids

So earlier this week a job opportunity came my way. Well--opportunity sounds lofty. I learned about an interesting teaching job and pursued it to the extent that I talked to a fellow teacher at the school and had planned to send over my CV to the headmaster. It's a temporary position, a few months this spring, at an independent middle school teaching history and Language Arts. I like my current job fine, but change is good, and since I'm adjunct I can always take a semester off and come back (this is the positive spin! The negative? They can always choose not to rehire me). A new job at a new school could be a walk down a new road. You never know, right?

A road. In California.

I was excited about it for a minute, and discussed it with B. over dinner-making the other night.

"So it's eight to eleven, every day, so you'd have to drop off L. at school every morning," I said. "And the job is so far up in the hills I'd have to drive. So you'd be biking L. every morning. And, wait, I volunteer at L.'s school every Friday, so I guess I'd have to ask the board to approve me as a non-participating parent, and pay the extra couple hundred dollars a month to be a non-participating parent, and not get to do that anymore. Hmm."

"We'd also have to start paying for early-morning care," B. said. "I can't get to work as late as 9:30 every day."

Pause. I thought about logistics for a long second. Here is what I thought to myself: We are a one-car family. It rains in the winter in Northern California. So some mornings, the bike doesn't work, and what would B. do then? Furthermore, I have committed to participating at L.'s school. I like participating at L.'s school. L. likes it when I participate at his school. And even if I made more money than I do now at this new job, the added costs of early-morning care and non-participation and gas would potentially make this job financially disadvantageous. For a one-semester gig? That might open a door, sure, but who knows?

So I let it go.

"Is that a real bummer?" B. asked me.

And that's what I've been thinking about. Was it a bummer?

The bare truth is that no, it was not a bummer. It was actually, really, totally, okay.

Bummer

But the experience has gotten me thinking. I'm always interested in momming and work, and the choices we have to make as parents. A friend with two teenage kids told me the other day that though she'd looked into a great graduate program that she desperately wanted to attend, she realized she couldn't do it because it would be way too stressful for her children. These opportunities come up, and sometimes, because we have kids, we miss them. I realize that my current job is dead-end. I realize this a little too often. Everyone knows that adjunct lecturing doesn't usually lead to tenure-track professoring, lots of prestige, or lots of money. Hell, I don't even have benefits through my job. But what it does give me is some stimulation, some experience, enough money to justify the hours I work unpaid (on writing, on blogging, on housecleaning and laundry) when L. is at school. And those things are not to be sneered at. When L. is older, maybe I will have a more prestigious work life. But that time, I'm afraid, is not now.

Eek--what would Anne Marie Slaughter think?

How about you, readers? What career sacrifices have you made for your kids? How do you balance working and parenting?

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

First change first: I believe I made it easier to comment on my blog. You used to have to have some sort of profile, but no more--now I am accepting anonymous posts. So, if you'd like to share some thoughts, now is the time. I'd love to know that people are reading!
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L, first day of school.

The end of summer, for me, is always a time of change. Since I stopped hating school in the latter elementary years I have found these late August/early September days to be a lovely time of renewal and growth. (I've always found this a bit ironic, since actually, in fall, everything is dying.) Now that I'm on year two of living in the part of Northern California where the seasons are so subtle you barely notice when they flip over, I'm detecting a slight pigmentation change in the leaves, a little more briskness in the air, and a feeling of excitement about what's to come this year: with my writing, with my family, with my teaching. Fall is here!

L. has had a big change: he started preschool. I wasn't sure, quite honestly, what the difference between preschool and his previous daycare situation would be--and part of me lamented switching him, since life at Lorena's was so fulfilling. But a week into a cooperative preschool, I'm so glad we did. I am having a mini-love affair with the whole experience: the consistency of a daily schedule, the quality of the teachers, the nice parents, the cute kids, the sand pile and the art materials and the trains and the animals and the playdough, oh! L. is more stimulated than he's been in months, I am enjoying the community, and the transition has been virtually seamless.

A big change is the cooperative nature of this new school; I volunteer there every Friday. And we all have administrative jobs to do, like fundraising, buildings & grounds, membership. My job? Playdough maker. I repeat: playdough maker.

Here is a picture of my kitchen overrun with vomit-colored goop that was absolutely impossible to mix.

Five minutes later, it still wouldn't budge.

Finally, I wised up and got out the Kitchenaid mixer.

Of course, the biggest changes of all are in L. himself, who is growing up so, so fast. On the first day of school I had this sensation that I'd blink my eyes and find that instead of driving up to the gates of preschool I'd be dropping him off at college. He's tall, he's talkative, and he doesn't want to sit on my lap at circle time. It's all happening so fast. I guess if you love them you just gotta let them grow up, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. 

Hilarious!

A blog post you may find as funny as I did.

More soon!

Love,

S